by Sophie White
Goddammit. Ali hated to admit it, but Amy definitely had a point. She knew herself from Rants.ie that people usually just heard a few key words from any bit of goss. It’s how Shelly Devine’s leaked video a few weeks ago before the Glossies had gone from Woman Says Motherhood Is Hard to Woman Wanted to Harm Her Baby in about two minutes flat.
‘But the attention span thing worked for Shelly,’ Ali argued. ‘They forgot all about her in a matter of days.’
‘Well, that’s because elsewhere on the internet you were faking a pregnancy journey, Ali. To pull off the same deflection in this instance, we’d need Holistic Hazel herself to be caught at a BDSM party tit-feeding a guy on a dog leash who was not her husband.’
‘OK, OK, I know. You’re right,’ Ali conceded unhappily.
‘Right, next.’ She consulted the tablet. ‘Once you’re rehabilitated, it’s time to capitalise. You’ve now got one helluva compelling brand story and we wanna make the most of it. As soon as we reset your account to public, we’re potentially looking at a captivated audience of two hundred and eighty thousand. There’s no room for some half-baked fumbling rollout; everything needs to be choreographed to perfection. We need to get the apology done, then tease the new real baby reveal with a few #ExcitingNewsComing tidbits and then get some serious spon on the baby-reveal post. Leave that to me – this baby announcement post will get more eyes on it than Shelly’s, Hazel’s and Polly’s announcements put together. It’s unparalleled brand exposure and we’re going to make sure they pay. I’ll take care of that. There’ll be a few brands that won’t want to associate with us but don’t worry, most of them don’t have a shred of integrity. And when they see the figures on your stuff, they’ll be all over it.’
‘Won’t people think it’s kind of in poor taste?’ Ali twisted her hands together nervously. It was way different planning sponcon with a real baby involved, she realised. How do Polly, Hazel and Shelly do it? she wondered. How do they sleep at night and not worry about what they’ve signed their kids up to?
‘Well, yes.’ Amy snapped with a grin. ‘I certainly wouldn’t be advising any ordinary client to do such a thing but, Ali, you’re the baby-faker. This isn’t in poor taste; you’re in poor taste. They hate you anyway; you might as well get a little something out of it. This money’ll give you a bit of stability after the baby’s born. It’s up to you how long you run with it. Beyond the rollout phase, this is hard to predict. In a couple of months, numbers might’ve have plummeted after their initial morbid fascination. You’re car-crash Insta right now. They won’t be able to look away. But depending on the public mood, they’ll tire and drift off to some other bit of goss or, who knows, maybe they’ll stick around? I watched you over the last couple of months and you’ve got something. It wasn’t just the bogus baby journey and the Glossies WildCard nomination they were watching for. You’re compelling on camera. You’re a natural performer. Think about what you want out of this too, Ali.’
In bed that night, Ali looked over her old video posts as she deleted them at Amy’s instruction. She cringed at some but also found that others were actually pretty funny. She was definitely at her best when moaning about Sam or bitching about stuff – being herself basically. She combed the comments for clues as to why 68,000 people had watched this video of her talking about the etiquette of Netflix when you’re coupled up.
@ElleG: Oh my gawd yassssss! You’re so right Ali the absolute RAGE when he watches ahead in the series without me.
@YogaBae41: Ali on relationship ettiquette: ‘You both need a personal Netflix show each and a shared show.’ Best advice ever lol.
@SarahGreene: Pissed myself at your description of Sam finding out you’d already watched The Affair in secret!!!!! You guys are too cute.
Fuck’s sake, they seemed to just like me. And I was too stupid to realise, she moaned internally. And they liked me when I was just being me and not shiteing on about protein or matcha when I’ve never even touched the stuff.
She flicked over to @HolisticHazel, who was in a bath with dried lavender and other blooms protecting her modesty and practising some #selfparenting, according to the text in the corner of the video. Apparently, #selfcare was over. ‘For me, the self-care movement started with great ideals but it’s since been co-opted by the media and has become a shallow term for little more than a scented candle and a bubble bath.’
She’s not wrong, Ali thought. There was a time there when Ali was certain you could have posted a story of yourself shaving a cat, hashtagged it ‘self-care’ and everyone would have been totally fine with it.
‘Self-parenting is simply a way for us to show compassion for ourselves and place our needs as mothers ahead of the demands of our families,’ Hazel intoned calmly. ‘So just for a few minutes a day, beautiful mamas, practise mindful self-parenting and allow yourself the luxury of being a child again with @lavenderlovlies, who do a fantastic range of bathing accessories from dried bath petals to natural sponges. Use the offer code “Holistic Hazel” for five per cent off your first purchase and don’t forget to follow @lavenderlovlies. It means the world to me when you follow the accounts I shout out because that’s more of what we need: women lifting up our fellow women. #WomenSupportingWomen #selfparenting #HazelsWisdom.’
#WomenSupportingWomen was being done to death. Ali rolled her eyes. Let’s be real here, Hazel, it’s about you demonstrating your influence to brands. She clicked the ‘women supporting women’ hashtag and found herself idly browsing the various posts earnestly extolling the power of supporting each other. The cynical voice in her head was bitching intensely, No one’s supporting me. She thought of all the reams of hatred dropping into her inbox and DMs daily all coming from women. It’s such a goddamn sham. They only support you when you’re perfect and you think like them and act like them. And don’t fake pregnancies online… Okay, maybe they had a point.
Chapter 10
‘I wanna play Insta, Muma,’ Georgie whined. Shelly leaned across her mother’s kitchen table and unlocked the screen.
‘She just likes the puppy and cat filters,’ she explained to her mum.
‘So how was the appointment?’ Sandra’s face was full of concern.
It had been a few days since her scan at the Rotunda and her encounter with Ali, but she was only just catching up with her mum now.
‘Everything looks OK so far. They’re happy with the size, she looked pretty chill in there. I was jealous! Imagine a cosy little nine-month nap.’ Shelly sighed. ‘I’m definitely feeling way better all round, thank God. Nausea is completely gone, and I feel like that soul-crushing tiredness is lifting.’
‘You’re doing great, pet. It’s been a mad month but you’re getting back on track. How’s Dan?’ Sandra put the kettle on and rooted out the biscuits.
‘Well, he couldn’t make it to the appointment. He’s over in London for meetings this week.’ Shelly dropped her voice, conscious of Georgie hearing them talk about their marriage. They weren’t hiding things from her but, given that she was only just about to turn four, they figured they had a little more time before they would need to roll out a big explanation. ‘I think he’s started D-A-T-I-N-G. Already.’
‘He didn’t hang around.’ Sandra looked appalled.
‘I know! I keep thinking about how I was there walking on eggshells. Doing every little thing to anticipate his reaction to stuff. Hiding SHELLY work because I knew it’d cause a fight. That kind of thing. And then he’s straight off with the first Tinder twat he catches.’
‘Shelly!’ Sandra admonished. ‘I know you’re angry but try to keep it pleasant. You have to. And how is the little madam?’ Sandra cocked her head towards Georgie, who was pouting and preening into the phone screen. Shelly sighed as the little girl changed her poses and snapped a couple of pics from overhead. It was harmless play, though Dan would probably freak if he saw her at that. He’d blame Shelly for corrupting their daughter. Everything is always the mother’s fault, she thought, feeling mutinous. Mothers ca
n’t win. If they’re too focused on their kids, they’ve become mumsy and irrelevant, but if a dad is focused on his kids, he’s a legend. Lauded for something as basic as supervising his own bloody child. Then if something goes wrong, all anyone wants to know is ‘Where was the mother?’ No one asks ‘Where was the father?’ because the bar for fathers is set so low that, short of just being absent entirely, they’re winning at parenting.
‘Berna says letting her just get used to the “new normal” is better than hitting her with a big talk that might scare her unduly,’ she said softly, turning back to the debate at hand. ‘She says we should just answer her questions honestly as they come up but not make a big deal out of things.’
‘Yes.’ Sandra poured the tea and nudged the milk towards Shelly. ‘With a new bab on the way, she’ll have plenty of upheaval without worrying about being a latchkey kid.’
‘Why on earth would she be a latchkey kid, Mam? What even is a latchkey kid? It sounds like something you got from EastEnders.’
‘Oh, I don’t know what I’m saying.’ Sandra waved her hands helplessly. ‘A child from a broken home is all I mean.’
‘That’s WORSE,’ Shelly erupted.
‘What’s worse, Muma?’ Georgie had momentarily paused in her selfies and was looking up inquisitively.
‘Nothing!’ Shelly and Sandra both yelped in unison.
‘What’s worse?’ she persisted. ‘What is? What is?’
Shelly scrambled for something to appease her. Sometime in the last few months as four approached, Georgie had begun talking with the intensity and relentlessness of a cold caller trying to switch your internet provider. Shelly actually googled ‘Four-year-old never …’ and the search bar had automatically filled in ‘stops talking’. It was cute but also could probably be used as torture against prisoners of war in combat situations.
‘We were saying there’s nothing worse than a melty Jaffa Cake,’ said Sandra, coming to the rescue.
‘Eww, yuck,’ Georgie retorted, turning back to the phone and her own face peering back at her.
‘Listen, Shelly. I’m sorry, pet. I’m saying the wrong things.’ Sandra bit into a Jaffa Cake dolefully.
‘I know, I know. It’s OK,’ Shelly reassured her and added milk to her cup. She watched the pale cloud bloom in the tea and tried not to get angry.
This was what it would be like for them now, she thought sadly. Dealing with people’s everyday blunders; People feeling sorry for her. People assuming that her family wasn’t perfect – that as a ‘broken home’, they were in some way in need of repair. She knew the last thing her mam wanted to do was make her feel bad but sometimes the intention didn’t matter a damn, not wanting to hurt someone didn’t make it any less painful when you did.
Thoughts of the mothers at the school gates next year and Georgie being the only kid in her class with separated parents converged on Shelly. She’d been going along trying her best not to think too far into the future.
‘Georgie’s doing great.’ Her mother’s voice brought her back to the present. ‘She’s a credit to you, pet. And you’re doing great yourself in spite of everything you have on.’ Sandra rubbed Shelly’s arm and tilted her head sympathetically. ‘Mairead said she’s there any time you need help or to even just grab a break for a few minutes.’
God, this was torture. Was everyone just going to assume that she was some sad case now who was soldiering on? Saddled with her two kids instead of blessed with them? Her brother’s wife, Mairead, was probably beside herself now that she and Dan were splitting up. Ever since they had become sisters-in-law, Shelly had detected a whiff of resentment from Mairead. She’d always suspected that Mairead and Johnny thought she and Dan were up themselves and she knew Mairead was always top of the watchers of Shelly’s Insta-Stories, but she NEVER referred to SHELLY or any of her successes. They came to the launch of her coffee table book but didn’t even ask her to sign a copy. Who did that?
Mairead did some blogging but Shelly wasn’t sure if she was still at it. She’d been so busy with SHELLY – it was hard to keep track of everyone’s lives. And here Mairead was now acting all concerned, offering help but most likely she just wanted a closer look at the slow demolition of Shelly and Dan’s ‘perfect life’.
‘Georgie! Dinner!’ Back at home, Shelly fussed about with the gold cutlery and linen napkins. She’d set an extra place so it looked as if three people were having dinner. She chewed her bottom lip. It certainly wasn’t the biggest lie she’d ever told on social media. She just wasn’t ready to come clean yet about her new relationship status. She knew any announcement of the split would trigger an outpouring of pseudo-sympathy and an inevitable wave of headlines from online sites using her family’s life for clicks.
She took a couple of flat-lay-style pics of the table. It looked gorgeous; along with their plates of quiche and salad, which Georgie would undoubtedly barely touch, she had a bowl of strawberries, a selection of crudités and breads, with wildflowers in a vase in the centre next to her marble tealight holder.
She called Georgie again. She was playing on the patio beyond the sliding kitchen doors. It was great to finally feel the days getting longer. It was nearly May, which always had such a hopeful vibe to it, though of course this year it would be hard. Shelly tried not to think about the anniversary coming up in a couple of weeks. She and Dan would have been seven years married this year. She snapped her mind shut to the thought and focused on editing the picture, bringing up the contrast and fiddling with the colour balance until the whole thing looked sharper and bathed in a rose-tinted haze. Georgie cantered in and clambered up to the table, stuffing a strawberry into her mouth.
‘So pretty, Muma! Will I do “cheeeese”?’ Georgie leaned her elbows on the table and perched her face on her small clenched fists, stretching her strawberry-stained lips into a perfect stage-child smile.
Shelly laughed at the pose and took a pic. ‘Nailed it, sweetie!’ Georgie happily tucked into the bread and ignored the crudités and quiche.
Shelly carried on editing the flat-lay and tried to enjoy the peace of the moment. She had found her guilt about her mothering had eased considerably since Georgie wasn’t appearing so much on the SHELLY account anymore. This flat-lay was a sponsored post for the interiors brand that was supplying the tableware, not to mention Shelly’s portion of the mortgage this month. Georgie wasn’t needed for this kind of post and this was what Shelly was set on pursuing. It was tough, though. The Shell-Belles wanted the mum content and she’d dangled a bump journey in front of them only a few months ago and was now failing to deliver. The engagement on posts like this one was never as strong. The followers wanted the good stuff: the cute daughter and the perfect life, not sterile flat-lays. She added the requisite hashtags to the caption, tagged the relevant accounts, hit Post and slipped the phone into her pocket.
She took a reluctant bite of the quiche. Pregnancy seriously affected her appetite and, of course, @__________ hovering ominously at the edge of her mind wasn’t helping. Any time she let more than a few hours lapse between posts, they were back in the DMs goading her and demanding she keep her ‘Insta content more consistent’. It was a very particular kind of blackmail, as Detective Bríd had commented.
‘It’s difficult when their aim isn’t clear like this. Usually we would expect them to have moved to demands for money or something by now.’
The fact that her stalker was confounding the police was not comforting. Shelly wished she could block the account but, as Amy had pointed out, they would be back within minutes with a new account.
‘Trying to shake these trolls can be like whack-a-mole. You block one and they’re immediately back with another account. And nothing pisses them off more than people trying to get rid of them,’ she’d explained.
Amy was right, as @__________ could become very heated if Shelly didn’t follow their low-grade demands to the letter. The first message she’d woken up to that morning was definitely verging on angry.
&
nbsp; @__________: Where was the bedtime skincare routine last night, Shelly? I TOLD you I wanted a ‘get un-ready’ with me on IGTV. Whatever happened to ‘I’d be nothing without my Shell-Belles, without you guys I wouldn’t have my amazing career and all these incredible opportunities’? You owe us, Shelly. You seem to be forgetting who holds all the power here. What would people say to this getting into the public domain????”
Beneath the message was an old pic from the SHELLY account. They had put it up for breastfeeding awareness week. Shelly had swallowed uneasily.
How could @_________ know about this post? She remembered the day clearly. Hazel and Polly had been over at the time for an #InstaMamaMorning, Hazel banging on about how important it was to be seen to be empowering women on awareness weeks like this. She’d no Insta-worthy pics of nursing baby Georgie – taking nice pics had been the last thing on her mind as her experience of breastfeeding had been pretty rocky. She and Amy had been hard-pressed to find one where she wasn’t looking despairing and ugly-crying, while Baby Georgie was wrinkled and red-faced screeching at her breast. Amy had dismissed them all for not being on-brand and then Hazel suggested they do a staged shot.
Shelly remembered burning with embarrassment. She couldn’t be so bald as that. However, after Hazel and Polly had left, she’d given in and helped Amy concoct a tasteful portrait of Shelly breastfeeding a doll of Georgie’s. It had been wrapped in a pink baby blanket.
@__________’s pic was from the same day, the same set-up but snapped from another angle. It showed Shelly smiling beatifically into the face of a small plastic doll, gently proffering a breast to it. Oh Jesus. This was bad, there was no way to couch it that didn’t come off as pure batshit crazy. How did @__________ have all these photos? In darker moments lately she’d been suspicious of everyone. Amanda, her MUA? Marni? Even Amy herself – it had to be someone close, she decided. The level of access displayed in these pictures seemed to confirm this.